Between The Shadow and The Soul
by SavageNymph
Summary: The madness comes for Sirius Black at night. Oneshot of Sirius in Azkaban. SiriusxRemus


During the day the madness is bearable. It is barely even there. At times it will come, a shadow unfurling in Sirius's mind and over his eyes, but it fades quickly. Like blinking spots out of your eyes it fades quickly.

But then night comes like a dark hand, dragging it's fingers across the light and pressing Sirius down against the filthy floor of his cell and the madness comes like a dark hand the madness comes—

-_Remus lying on the grounds the green green grounds with red blood achingly red blood on the green and Remus is pale and naked and red red blood twisted limbs it was a bad night a bad night and James is tapping gently tapping Remus's face Wake up Moony oh God Sirius this is bad and it was a bad night a bad night and Sirius is kneeling beside Remus and he tries to shake him awake fear heavy fear in his chest in his lungs and then Remus's eyelids—_

_ -Pale cheeks flushed with anger A disgrace you are a disgrace Sirius dark eyes that are black not grey like his not warm and brown like James's not wide startled warm like Remus's and Sirius feels hate coiled in his belly hot hate coiled You cold selfish bitch I'M the disgrace this whole bloody sham of a family is a disgrace and a hand across his cheek hard cold pain spreading he tastes blood warm brown eyes James's eyes and That's it I can't take this anymore and clothes books trunk pushing past father mother brother dark cold eyes the sudden heat of London—_

The nights are the worst and Sirius will shift to Padfoot often to try and forestall the madness of night but it is hard to avoid it completely. He cannot run from the memories, not when they are his only companions in this desolate cell.

During the day he moves from the ragged cot to the small, barred window that looks out over part of the island and the vast, endless ocean. From the cot to the window to the cot to the window and sometimes to the center of the cell, cross-legged, staring out the endless dark corridor that almost never changes. Sirius thinks that he will never forget the corridor he has memorized every crack every shadow.

There is a routine to it. The cot when he is calm enough to be still and close his eyes, when the pull of the dementors is less ferocious or when he is Padfoot. The window when Sirius is restless when his limbs are tense and his muscles are coiled and his chest is full with longing to run, to roll in green grasses and soft sheets, to _move_ to _live. _He watches the corridor when it is either that or truly lose himself to the madness to the shrieks he can feel building in his throat. He watches the corridor and counts every crack in the stone, finds pictures in the dust.

It is never enough to stop night—

-_Can't be it can't be Remus not his Remus there are shadows in Remus's eyes but they move together as always lips and teeth and hips together heat in Sirius's limbs and chest and heart but no it's wrong Something's wrong Moony how could it be him it can't be his Remus who is the informer Sirius would rather die than believe that but why who else who else but how could it be Remus with his books and awkward smile and kindness endless kindness and the warmth of their breath mingling across pillows but who else who else—_

_ -The house the house is ruined—_

Sirius tries not to think of his friends when the dementors' power isn't drawing them to the front of his mind. He is innocent. He is innocent and he focuses on that with such cold, icy clarity that not even the dementors can take it away. He makes it fill his mind so that he will not be tempted to _think _to desperately try and remember the good things about his best friends and the man he loved. Loves. Loved. Loves.

The good things will not stay, he has learned that. He may recall a snatch of something but then it is gone and the flood of painful things come back and the misery in his chest and stomach will never go away so why taint those snatches with the ache of the dementors in his body?

Fudge comes one day and Sirius wonders why he bothers. Is it to lord over all the prisoners? To simply make sure everything is in order? Or does he find it fascinating? Sirius watches him walk through the corridor and is fascinated by the idea of _coming _and then _leaving, _of shoes hitting the ground in steps and muscles tugging and moving.

"Black." Fudge murmurs as he stares into Sirius's cell.

"Minister." Sirius tips his head.

There is surprise in Fudge's face, in his small eyes, and Sirius is again fascinated by these new emotions. Emotions that are not fear or misery—it is like sampling a fine wine, seeing these emotions on Fudge's face that Sirius has been a stranger to for twelve years.

"Are you done with your paper, Minister? If I could take a look? I miss doing the crossword puzzle." Sirius looks at the white cylinder in Fudge's hand he wants to see more surprise on the man's face and he wants to feel something in his hands that is not his own dirty hair, skin, the cloth of his robes and cot, the cold stone of his cell.

"Oh? Yes, I suppose I am." Fudge hands Sirius the newspaper through the bars on his cell and the paper feels wonderful in Sirius's hands before the joy is muted, dissolved as always.

Sirius opens the paper and starts to read and he listens for Fudge's footsteps as the Minister of Magic walks away. Sirius had forgotten how his own voice sounded; so long he made sure no sound passed his lips. It takes him an even longer moment to remember how to read.

And then there. There he is—

-_Lily and James Sirius how could you—_

A rat on top of a boy's shoulder, a rat Sirius knows immediately—

-_It was him it was Sirius's fault and blood and noise and pain and he is laughing laughing Lily and James Sirius how could you—_

Harry. A name Sirius has not thought in a long time. Hogwarts, he reads the name in the paper. The boy. Peter. Hogwarts.

The madness comes that night with the newspaper clutched in his hands—

-_Harry so young a baby bright green eyes Lily's eyes Sirius wants to stop and cry with this child cry over what has happened but he doesn't he doesn't he pushes past Hagrid past Hagrid into the house, now half-destroyed an_d _there in a crumpled heap is James his James No the scream is raw and Sirius falls to his knees in front of James's body and holds his best friend his best friend his James his Jamie his Prongs dead glasses askew dead warm brown eyes empty and he cannot go upstairs cannot see Lily kind Lily good Lily does not want to see her body is already consumed with grief with rage with James dead and cold in his arms and he stumbles outside and is fighting tears is touching Harry's face grow up like them god grow up like them and Give him to me Hagrid I'm his godfather and Sorry Sirius I have orders from Dumbledore I do Take my bike then I don't need it anymore and then a giant hand on his shoulder It'll be okay Sirius someday it will be alright and Hagrid have you oh never mind if you see Remus tell him oh god I have to go I have to go and the house the house is ruined—_

The madness comes but then it ebbs and Sirius is still holding the newspaper. He stares down at the picture of Peter and thinks of the baby. Harry. He thinks of Remus. He looks up at the window and then at the bars on his door.

He will escape. And perhaps the thought is madness but it is a calculated, cunning madness that fills Sirius with a sudden hot fire of purpose.

During the day the madness is bearable. It is barely even there.


End file.
